A towering mast, with its big sail bending to the breeze, shot past them--the big cat-boat, _Susie_, bound for her lines of lobster-pots just off the mouth of the cove. Her crew hailed the launch and her party--four sturdy young fellows in jerseys and high sea-boots.
"Whew!" said Joe. "Smell that lobster bait! I'd hate to go for a pleasure trip on the _Susie_."
The _Hattie G._ was just ahead and Mr. Stryver shut off the engine. The drab, dirty looking old craft tugged sharply at her taut mooring cable. She had two short masts, and on these heavy canvas was being spread by the crew, which consisted of five men and a boy.
One of the men was the skipper, another the mate, a third the cook; but all hands had to turn to to make sail. There were several sweeps (heavy oars) held in bights of rope along the rail. Both ends of the _Hattie G._ were sharp; in other words she had two bows. Thus the name, "double-ender"--a build of craft now almost extinct save in a few New England ports out of which ply the swordfishermen.
Skipper Joline came to the rail. He was a hoarse, red-faced man with a white beard, cut like a paintbrush, on his chin.
"Climb aboard, folks," he said. "Steve will get breakfast shortly. There's a bit of fog and some swell outside. Better all lay in a good foundation of scouse and sody biscuit. Ye'll need it later."
"That sounds rather suggestive, Ruth," whispered Agnes. "Do you suppose he expects us landlubbers to be really _sick_?"
"I hope not," replied her sister. "But I don't care! I'm going to eat that breakfast if it kills me! I was never so hungry in all my life before."
They left the _Nimble Shanks_ moored at the double-ender's anchor-buoy, and the latter lurched away on the short leg of her tack for the entrance to the cove. There was a fresh breeze and the water began to sing under the sharp bows of the _Hattie G._
The cook got busy in the galley and the fragrance of coffee and fried fish smothered all other smells about the craft--for it must be confessed that the double-ender had an ancient and fishy smell of her own that was not altogether pleasant to the nostrils of a fastidious person.
These hearty boys and girls were out for fun, however, and they had been long enough at Pleasant Cove to get used to most fishy odors. Before breakfast was over the _Hattie G._ had run through the "Breach," as the cove entrance was called, and they were sailing straight out to sea.